


A misleading scene

by allthemchickens



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Andrew Scott - Freeform, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, Gen, Moriarty - Freeform, Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 02:49:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11072511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthemchickens/pseuds/allthemchickens
Summary: my writing has gone to shit'There was tension in the air. A whiff of that tension smelled of the sexual kind.' loljust a quick readenjoy!:)





	A misleading scene

**Author's Note:**

> my writing has gone to shit 
> 
> 'There was tension in the air. A whiff of that tension smelled of the sexual kind.' lol
> 
> just a quick read  
> enjoy!  
> :)

The man in the long thin house coat lay still across the sofa. His lengthy, handsome fingers met steepled at his lips. There was a knocking at the door that he was ignoring. A persistent knocking met by a persistent refusal to answer. 

The voice that called out to Sherlock from the street beyond the protective door of 221B belonged to Moriarty. It called out playfully. Mockingly. He was begging for a playmate. While Sherlock's boredom led to him lying about as if he were in a coffin, Moriarty's cure for boredom involved waking the dead. They were perfect for each other. 

The criminal had made it past the door and was standing in the heart of the flat looking over the beautiful detective. 

'It's rude to break into people's homes'.

Moriarty grinned though Sherlock's eyes were closed.

'It's unwise to leave the door to said homes unlocked'.

Sherlock opened his eyes staring out in the direction of the kitchen remembering the conversation he had with John involving bread and other edible things. He remembered in detail what John had looked like that morning. His hair untidy, his shirt he had worn to bed was shown through his unzipped green jacket, tucked into his trousers in some places and untucked messily in others. Despite the unkept look he looked quite heavinly. 

'John must have left it unlocked when he dashed off to the market'.

'Oh yes of course. Why must you always remind me of your husband every time I come around'.

Of course, Moriarty knew the two weren't married. 

Sherlock didn't bother to correct him.

'What would you like'?

Moriarty heard the question directed at him. It was an odd question. So direct and to the point. He made painful eye contact with the man who was lying down. All he did was lie around it seemed and yet he had the world at his heels. A little lap dog to follow him everywhere and fetch his groceries. A criminal at his doorstep wanting to have some fun. Sherlock had it all. What did the criminal want?

The straight forward question was matched with a clear cut response. 

'I want to destroy you'

The eye contact was unwavering. Nothing could cut through it until Sherlock's tired eyes- which contained galaxies- started to fill slightly with water causing his face to squirm uncomfortably and him to blink and look away.

Moriarty stood taller. He had been in Sherlock's grand precense for no more than 4 minutes and already he was starting to crumble slightly. He began to stride to where the other man was lying down defencelessly on his back. 

Sherlock reacted by putting his left hand up across his body and up to the criminal as if waiting for impact. He couldn't do much else lying down.

'I want to warn you I have a gun in the right pocket of my house coat'

Moriarty stopped in his tracks and began to laugh.

'Oh, Sherlock. You don't really think you'd ever shoot me. You need me. Besides, theres no need to be so dramatic.'

The laughs grew louder and were oddly comforting to the ear. It played out like a familiar composition. 

'Poor Sherlock. I dont want to kill you. Not now anyways. Why threaten death when death does not threaten you, hm?'

Standing right over the detective now, the criminal bent down to match eye level with his counterpart. 

He had Sherlocks full attention.

After a short but much-needed pause, the criminal repeated the detective's own question back to him.

'What do you want?'

Sherlock whimpered slightly. Exhaustion was getting to him after not sleeping the night that had just ended hours ago.

'I know what you want.'

A cruel smile attempting to be hidden as a friendly one appeared.

'You're just an addict needing your fix and that's all you'll ever be. Lying about on the couch all day is the only way you stay away from the stuff. Tell me I'm wrong detective. Tell me what you want more than anything in the world isn't to be transported effortlessly into your mind palace."

The words mind palace echoed back and forth in Sherlock's head. He had been clean for months with the help of good friend John Watson.

Sherlock was tired but not afraid

'I want you to leave'

Moriarty's expression faded to expressionless stone and he brought his face closer to Sherlocks. 

There was tension in the air. A whiff of that tension smelled of the sexual kind. 

Moriarty's arm came up and rested behind where Sherlock's head was resting. The criminal looked down at the blue eyes that stared up at him and whispered 'Sweet dreams Mr. Holmes'.

Sherlock's confusion lasted only a second before he felt the syringe digging into his arm. The same arm that had been healing from previous drug habits.

The detective's heart began to slow as the drug worked its way into him. His eyes shut slowly for some much-needed rest.

When the criminal was happy with the stage he had set on the floor of 221B he kissed the detectives forehead softly. 

'I told you I would destroy you'.

When John Watson returned home he would find Sherlock Holmes passed out on the floor with an empty syringe beside him. No sign of Moriarty.

'Damn it Sherlock'


End file.
